


Heavy Ordnance

by dianekepler



Series: Drabbles of the Commonwealth [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Comedy, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Humor, Ingram Is Smarter Tho, Physics, Pranks, Sole Is A Nerd, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianekepler/pseuds/dianekepler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole finds a cache of pre-war ammunition. Proctor Ingram helps test it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Ordnance

The Prydwen’s forecastle was great on the rare nights when the weather cooperated. Tonight it was especially pretty. Ragged cirrus haloed the moon, indicting winds higher up, although there was barely a breeze at sea level. 

“So how far up is this?”

I took a swig of the Gwinnett Stout that was dangling from my fingers as I leaned against the railing with my arms crossed.

Proctor Ingram took a sip from her own beer. “Point two clicks, unless the bridge crew is having an off shift, but if that was true we’d hear Kells hollering from here.”

I grinned and turned up the collar of my bomber jacket. It was calm out, but colder than a ghoul’s nutsack. “So let’s run the numbers. Two hundred meters is about a six second drop, so a delta-v of around sixty. Or, wait, what’ s the terminal velocity for one of these bad boys?”

Proctor Ingram rolled one of the missiles I'd prepped in the finely calibrated hand of her power armor frame. “Maybe 50 meters per second, for this mass and size.”

“Okay. And that mass is about a thousand grams.”

She gave me some side-eye. “Point seven six eight four four.”

I snorted, but beer didn’t quite come out my nose, like maybe she'd been hoping. I tried shoving at her metal shoulder, but it ended up displacing me instead. Damn inertia. 

Ingram nodded at me. “Where did you find these, anyway?” 

“Hermetically sealed bunker up in Concord. The guy — I’m assuming it was a guy — must’ve had some kind of fetish. It looks like he spent more on that unit than most people did on a full-on shelter for their families.”

“What do you mean by fetish?" It was easy to forget that people who'd grown up since the war had a lot less inclination or time for ... leisure activities. A couple of failed attempts at explaining had Ingram giving me a look. "You're saying people used to try and have sex with these." The missile was about the size of her hand. It was obvious why the idea didn't make sense. "It was pretty rare, but yeah. There used to be meetings and magazines. Some people entire suits made up. Special ones for Sundays”

Ingram shook her head. She put the empty beer back in the ammo bag I'd brought up and took out a knew one. “How would you even know unless --”

“Look, that’s not the point." It was time to steer the talk back. "These things are going to break up on impact. So let’s go with two thirds of a kilogram for the mass. And the limit for trauma by sudden impact is… let’s say fifty grams to allow for a margin of error. That’s 490 Newtons. And before you give me that look, I know because I asked Cade. Now what's the impact time?" 

Ingram considered. A mild breeze stirred a few pieces of her hair, giving her some mad scientist cred. “Point one seconds. Point zero seven five to be conservative.”

“Nice, that's what I thought. So check my math, what’s it come out to?”

The Prydwen’s head engineer, whose math got even faster when she drank, rolled her eyes up for a couple seconds. “Four hundred and ... fifty Newtons for one of these at terminal velocity. It'll bitchslap, but not seriously hurt anyone.”

"That's what I thought." I pointed at the firing range where, if aim was any indication, Knight Lucia had a bunch of initiates lined up. “Over there?”

Ingram hiccuped. And grinned. 

I held up a finger. “One sec.” 

There was a long-range rifle stored in a wooden crate near the door. I took it out, lined up the scope, and counted down silently with my fingers. Peripheral vision showed Ingram stepping back from the railing. She braced her legs and wound up to deliver what was probably the best pitch since the last game at Fenway, over 200 years ago.

I wasn’t focused on the right initiate for the impact, but a scan down the line showed one who’d landed flat on his ass, hair plastered to his skull and the most bug-eyed expression on his face. The other initiates looked so cute circling their fallen brother, rifles bristling. 

“Booyah!” I pumped my fist. 

“Shh!” Ingram was giggling like a fifth grader. The proctor was a hell of a lot of fun when she wasn’t working herself down to the last fusion core. 

I took another look, only to come scope to scope with Lucia. 

“Oh shit.”

“What?”

Lucia's front hand came off her rifle to wave at us, fingers hinging down all together at the palm. 

I scrambled up. “She's got night vision! Get out of the way!” 

A split second later, our sack of carefully prepped water balloons went up in a geyser of water, completely drenching both of us. 

It reminded me, too late, that light goes way faster than projectiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an idea from [@imagineyoursolesurvivor ](https://imagineyoursolesurvivor.tumblr.com/post/139795771440/imagine-your-ss-dropping-water-balloons-on-people)
> 
> Mad props to the xkcd forums, where the sexiest nerds of our time figure stuff like this out every day.


End file.
